


Five Times Liv and Helen Didn’t Kiss and One Time They Did

by Quanna



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Internalized Homophobia, Mistletoe, SO MUCH FLUFF, THERE IS ONLY ONE BED!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-25 06:01:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22031179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quanna/pseuds/Quanna
Summary: Does what it says on the tin.
Relationships: Liv Chenka & Eighth Doctor, Liv Chenka & Eighth Doctor & Helen Sinclair, Liv Chenka/Helen Sinclair
Comments: 14
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> These two disasters, honestly. 
> 
> This one is the angstiest of the lot. Trigger warnings for: some blood, mild dissociation and I think that’s it? 
> 
> I’ve written the whole thing so other chapters will follow shortly.

Liv is bleeding. 

Helen can see red running down her cheek through the cell’s forcefield. The flashing lights of the alarm overhead throw the blood in sharp relief against her features, making it difficult to see her face.

Helen raps her badly shaking fingers against the entrance keypad. “Come on, come on come on! Work with me, you stupid machine!” 

The forcefield wavers, followed by a high-pitched whine from the door mechanism. The device on her wrist flashes a timed warning, the alarm droning on. Helen hits the code pad in frustration, typing in the sequence once more. It has to be correct - she practically memorises code for a living, for goodness sake.

“Helen?” Liv’s voice is barely audible over the cacophony of sounds. 

“I’m here!” Helen yells back, cocking her head sideways to catch a glimpse of Liv through the forcefield.

“I’m getting you out, I just have to-” 

The door pad flashes a row of red ‘x’ marks. Helen curses in a way that would please her brothers and mortify her mother, and hits the code pad again. And again, this time with a well-aimed fist. Sparks fly from the keys and she yelps. The forcefield flares, shimmers, and dies. Another ear-splitting whine joins the rest of the alarms and her wrist device flashes urgently. She’s running out of time. 

Helen breathes a sigh of relief and runs into the cell.

Liv sees her and screams.

As she skids to a halt in shock, it occurs to Helen she’s never seen Liv terrified before. Scared, yes; frightened - absolutely. But the abject terror in Liv’s eyes, almost feral in its intensity has her blood running cold. Something is very wrong here.

“Hey,” she says, trying for casual. Liv stares at her, terror slowly morphing into horror on her face. “It’s only me, no need to be frightened.”

Helen takes a step forward and Liv immediately backs further into the small cell, eyes calculating exit routes. Helen could kick herself. Liv’s jumpy at the best of times, and this is the worst Helen’s ever seen her. 

Change of plan.

“Liv?” Liv’s wide eyes snap to hers. Helen forces herself not to look away. “Can you tell me where you are?” 

Liv shakes her head in anger. 

“Whatever you are, I’m not playing your games. Get out of my head.” 

That's not the answer Helen was expecting. She holds up her hands placatingly. 

“I’m not-”

“I don’t care!” Liv shouts, in a tone of voice Helen’s only ever heard her use against the Eleven. 

“I know what you’re doing and it won’t work. I saw you die.”

Oh. 

That’s not good. 

Helen swallows the rest of her sentence, desperation knotting in her stomach. "Liv, whatever you're seeing - it isn't real," she pleads, hands where Liv can see them. "I don't know what's happening to you but I know you're stronger than whatever it is. You're safe."

Liv’s signature look of sheer disdain is a lot worse with the flashing lights distorting her features. Helen never expected to be on the receiving end of it, and she’s not enjoying the experience.

“Talk to me,” she tries again, her voice quite a bit higher than she’d like it to be. “Tell me what’s happening to you. I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.” 

Liv scans Helen head to toe, then snaps: “Tell me where you got that scarf.”

Helen looks down at the scarf around her neck, puzzled. “I don’t -”

“Just - tell me.”

“You gave it to me,” Helen stutters, fingers unwittingly catching in the soft alien material. “I saw it in the market of that mountain planet we went to a few weeks back and you bought it for me.” 

She also remembers Liv wrapping it around her and telling her it matched her eyes. To Liv’s great delight, she’d blushed so furiously she’d hidden her face in the scarf, and the exchange had become a teasing ritual between them. She’d worn it pretty much continuously since.

Liv nods, something relaxing in her posture. Helen takes a small step forward and when Liv doesn’t back away, closes the distance between them until they’re close enough to touch. 

Liv reaches out and practically collapses into her. Helen staggers back and guides them gently to the floor, breathing deeply through her nose to stop the panic bubbling over. She realises now the scarf question was a test, and she hopes to the stars she passed it.

Liv clings to her. The sensation is so foreign it takes Helen a second to draw her arms round Liv, thrown by the unfamiliar need for comfort.

“It’s okay,” she soothes. “We’ll get out of here.” 

“I saw you die,” Liv chokes, uncharacteristically vulnerable. “There was a Dalek and-” Her shoulders shake. Helen runs a hesitant hand over her back, making a mental note to ask the Doctor about the ‘Dalek’ later. It’s undoubtedly horrible, but it can wait. Right now she needs to calm Liv enough to get her into the corridor and out of the complex before it explodes. 

“Hey,” she says softly, sitting back a little and making eye-contact with Liv. “I’m not going anywhere.” She grasps Liv’s hands in hers and squeezes them tightly. “In fact, thanks to you, I’m not going to die for a very long time.” 

Liv smiles weakly, eyes shining, and Helen’s heartbeat flares predictably. Something else to think about later.

Liv wipes her eyes with her sleeve, staring at the trickle of blood on the fabric. 

“It’s real,” Helen prompts softly. Liv sighs in annoyance, gingerly touching the side of her own face. She’s stopped shaking, feeling her way round the bruise on her forehead with practised movements. “I’ll live,” she pronounces acerbically after a moment. Helen laughs, relieved to hear the sarcasm back in Liv’s voice. Liv looks down at their other, still joined hands and frowns.

“What did you do to your knuckles?” She asks, in a tone of voice that means she already knows the answer. 

“I may have punched the keypad,” Helen admits sheepishly. “It sparked.”

Liv stares at her in disbelief. “Did you at least place your thumb by your index finger?”

“Maybe?” 

Liv rolls her eyes. “Does it hurt?”

“Only a bit. I promise you can do a full examination later, but we have to move.”

Liv gives her hand a careful squeeze and takes a few deep breaths. “Okay, room’s stopped spinning, that usually means the worst is over. Let’s go.” She gets to her feet without Helen’s help, blinking at the cell around them. “Yeah, definitely wearing off. This place was a lot more horrible when I was thrown in.”

Helen files that away for later, too. She’ll ask once Liv’s had a chance to process it herself. 

Only then does she notice the alarms have stopped blaring.

“We need to go - now,” she tells Liv. “The Doctor’s blowing the whole thing skyhigh in-” she glances at her wrist, gulping, “two minutes. This way, come on.” 

They link hands outside the cell, Helen guiding them as they sprint down the maze of corridors. 

She’s not naturally given to vengeance, but for their sake, she hopes she never meets the person who did this to Liv. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings as far as I’m aware.

"After breakfast," Liv announces, "I'm gonna teach you how to throw a punch."

Helen swallows her piece of toast. "What?" 

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" The Doctor asks, passing Helen a jar of luminescent goop labelled 'nutrition'. 

"Listen," Liv explains. "I saw your hand after punching that lock yesterday, and as the resident medtech I can't watch you risk your bones that way. So, I'm going to teach you how to do it properly."

"It did short-circuit." 

"Yeah, and you nearly went with it. Can't have that. So after breakfast, you and me -"

"You punched a lock?" The Doctor sounds almost impressed. 

"Don't start." Liv warns. 

"No no I'm not. Just didn't take you for the punching sort, Helen." 

"Guess Liv's rubbing off on me."

Liv laughs and Helen smiles at the sound of it. 

The Doctor looks between them. Something unreadable passes on his face, and then he grins like he's solved a tricky puzzle. 

"In that case, I guess the next trip can wait. Gives me a chance to finish those TARDIS engine couplings too, they're proving particularly resistant to interference." 

He pours himself some more tea, plonking four sugars into his cup. Liv shoots him a disapproving glance. The Doctor definitely notices and expertly ignores it, passing the pot to Helen who declines with a gesture. “I’m sure you’ll be brilliant, you always are,” he tells her, finishing his tea in a few gulps and getting up to dump his mug in the sink/dishwasher/bin/storage.

“I’ll be somewhere in the console room if you need me.” 

"We won't, but thanks," Liv replies cheerfully. 

The Doctor grasps at his hearts like he’s been deeply wounded, turns around dramatically and strides out.

"He brings it upon himself, giving me ammunition like that," Liv says, rolling her eyes. 

Helen nods in agreement, a nervous flutter in her stomach at the prospect of spending the next half hour or so alone with Liv. It’s not an entirely unpleasant feeling, as long as she doesn’t analyse what it means. 

Unfortunately, Helen possesses a relentlessly analytic mind that apparently works overtime even when being taught self-defence. The TARDIS has kindly lent them some foam blocks and a vast 19th century ballroom for practice, and Helen finds her feet firmly planted on its marble floor. 

“Okay, now punch me,” Liv says.

“What? Why?”

“How else did you want to practice? Besides, I’ve got TARDIS-certified protection.” Liv holds up a foam block and the TARDIS beeps happily. “Can’t go wrong. So, punch me.”

The treacherous flutter in Helen’s stomach roars in protest. “But what if I hurt you?” 

Liv makes a face she cannot read. “You won’t. Trust me.”

Trust is not the problem. Helen draws a breath and aims for Liv's face.

"You can keep your eyes open," Liv chuckles as Helen's fist connects weakly with the foam block. "I find it quite satisfying." 

Helen shakes her fist at her side. It doesn’t hurt, but her whole body is buzzing with an energy she’d really rather get rid of.

“Try again,” Liv coaches. “You’ll do better after a few goes. Imagining the Doctor’s face usually helps me.” 

Helen huffs a laugh and aims again, keeping her eyes trained on Liv’s. The punch is a lot more forceful this time, hitting the foam with an audible thud. 

“See?,” Liv laughs. “You’re great. No wonder that lock gave up.”

Helen feels heat rise in her cheeks. She pulls her shoulders back and punches the foam again. And again. It’s exhilarating once she gets the hang of it, and she finds herself laughing every time her fist lands against the block. Ever since the Sonomancer, getting carried away with anything has felt dangerous. Even though her powers are gone, she can’t quite shake the feeling of them crawling under her skin. Now though, with Liv close by giving her gentle pointers, it almost feels like fun. 

“I think you’ve got the basics down,” Liv declares after a while, lowering the foam block. Helen sits down on the floor, crossing her ankles before realising she’s wearing trousers and fanning her legs out wide, grinning as Liv joins her. 

“Not bad, right?”

“Not in the slightest. You’re a natural.” 

Helen laughs, wiping her hands on her jeans from the future. It took a few adventures, and some encouragement from Liv (and the Doctor, in his own way), but she’s grown rather fond of the things. Especially the ones with pockets. 

“Still with me?” Liv asks gently. She means well, but the question has popped up noticeably more often since Rikerzon and reminds Helen too much of the months spent without her friends.

“Yeah,” she smiles, pushing the thought away. “Thanks for teaching me.”

“No problem,” Liv answers, bumping their shoulders together. “Can’t have you break your bones on my account.” Her smile fades and for a moment Helen wonders if she’s got lost somewhere, but then Liv shakes her head and looks at her. “We can make it a more frequent thing, if you like. There’s plenty of other things I can teach you, or we could just - spend some time together?”

“You mean when we’re not busy running around trying to stop the Doctor from catching fire,” Helen teases, the flutter suddenly back in her stomach. “Or setting fire to things.” 

“Something like that, yeah.”

“I’d like that,” Helen says softly, surprising herself with her honesty. “And if I learn how to kick down doors in the process, it’ll be even more brilliant.” 

Liv laughs out loud. “Deal.”

Helen pulls on the hair tie she’s wearing until it slides round her wrist, hair falling in her face. She runs her hands through it, combing it back with her fingers to retie it. 

And catches Liv staring, eyes locked on her hands. 

Oh.

The ballroom suddenly feels a lot smaller. Helen quickly ties her hair back, failing to hide her blush.

“Think I’m going to shower. See you in the library later?” 

“Yeah,” Liv says, avoiding her gaze. “I’ll clean up here and join you.” 

Helen raises an eyebrow and Liv’s eyes widen. “I meant in the library.” 

“Sure.”

Liv groans, hiding her face in her hands. 

Helen laughs all the way back to her room, the flutter in her stomach louder than it has ever been.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post fairytale of Salzburg. Repressed feelings abound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small warning for some references to internalised homophobia on Helen's part, but that's about it.

Snow crunches underfoot as they meander through Salzburg’s ancient streets, the buildings a warm amber in the glow of the street lights. With the Doctor off somewhere ahead, Helen is guiding them entirely by the faint pull of the TARDIS calling her home - a task complicated somewhat by the fact Liv hasn’t let go of her hand since they left Inge and Waltraud’s a good twenty minutes ago. 

“How was your first Christmas?” she asks lightly, forcing her focus from Liv’s gloved hand in hers to the TARDIS’ mental imprint.

“Quite violent.” Liv’s voice is muffled by the thick scarf she’s pulled over her nose. “Nobody warned me about Imps abducting people. Can’t say I see the appeal of being dragged into hell.” 

Helen laughs, breath curling into the icy air. “We’ll do it again next year without the Imps.”

Liv nods and pulls her across the street, swerving into a small alley lit only by a few ornate electric lanterns. Helen wonders if she is trying to lengthen their walk as much as she herself is.

“It was brilliant after that though,” Liv mutters suddenly, so softly that Helen barely catches it against the wind. “Once I got you back.” 

Helen’s heart stutters, and for once she doesn’t clamp down on the flood of warmth that ensues it. Life is short, she knows that now, and she doesn’t want to waste a second more of it. She squeezes Liv’s hand, feeling at ease for the first time in decades.

The snow falls thicker as they turn a corner, a sea of fairy lights dancing on the wind above them. Liv stumbles and Helen instinctively grabs her arm, pulling her closer to keep her upright. Liv looks like she wants to say something, then seems to change her mind and leans into Helen’s side.

“Thanks.”

Helen can only nod, dumbstruck by the feeling of Liv against her. Bundled up against the snow like this, cheeks red from the cold, she doesn’t want the evening to end. Liv is safe and alive and wrapped in an adorable TARDIS coat that makes Helen want to reach out and brush the snow out of her hair. 

_ I’d spend my whole life in hell to have this moment with you _ , she thinks as Liv holds up her hand to the falling snow, eyes bright with wonder. She’d known, abstractly, about women living together, but it’d always been followed by an ‘in sin’ in her father’s booming voice. Seeing Inge and Waltraud though - it’s made her rethink the future. Her future. 

Another icy gust of wind sweeps through the street, carrying with it the echo of faraway carol singers. It shakes Helen from her thoughts and she wishes she’d had the foresight to take a hat with her. Liv is clearly thinking the same, because she curls a hand round Helen’s arm and pulls her into a doorway. There’s barely room for two.

Liv walks her fingers up to her shoulder, and Helen swears she can feel the air between them change.

“If I’m overstepping-”

“You’re not,” Helen answers before her brain catches up with the rest of her body. She hopes it never does, because Liv is looking at her in a way that’s making her whole being hum with electricity. If this is what degeneracy feels like, she never wants it to stop. 

Snow spills into their little hideout, and Helen shakes her head a little to clear it from her hair. Only then does she notice the single strand of green hanging from the doorway. 

Liv follows her gaze.

“I’m missing something, aren’t I.” 

Helen nods weakly. “It’s mistletoe,” she says, voice a lot more level than she feels.

Liv looks unimpressed. 

Helen feels heat creep into her cheeks. “You’re supposed to kiss the person underneath it for good luck. It’s a Christmas tradition.” 

Liv looks pensive. It’s her medic look, the one she gets when she’s sectionalising thought into emotion and practical reality. Like she’s weighing up the collateral damage for every outcome and choosing a survival path based on what will hurt the least. Helen wonders if any of her patients ever knew Liv well enough to see through it.

“I think-” Liv sighs finally, looking at the mistletoe like it has personally offended her, “I think I’ve had enough Christmas traditions for today.” 

Helen feels a strange mix of relief and disappointment, and grabs Liv’s hand before she can talk herself out of it.

“Maybe next year.” 

Liv’s eyes widen, and Helen dissolves into a nervous fit of laughter, pulling Liv close and wrapping her arms around her in a hug. “It’s good to have you back,” she mutters, her nose in the crown of Liv’s hair. It feels entirely too forward and familiar at the same time.

“You too,” Liv whispers back, her breath tickling Helen’s ear. She rests her head against Helen’s shoulder, squeezing her arm. "You're the most amazing person I've ever met, I hope you know that.”

Helen swallows hard. One day she’ll be able to make sense of her feelings enough to tell Liv how she feels, but right now the thought is too overwhelming even to contemplate.

“Let’s go home,” she says instead, and pulls Liv out of the doorway into the snowy street once more.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snuggles!

“Here it is! I knew he’d have a copy somewhere.” Helen pulls the book off the shelf, blowing the dust off the top. Liv can just make out the golden embossed lettering on the cover: Grimm’s Household Fairytales, Volume 1.

“How many of them are there?” 

“Stories? Hundreds,” Helen answers, climbing down the ladder with the book in hand. She jumps down the last few rungs, socked feet barely making an impact on the thickly carpeted floor. “Don’t worry, I only want to read you a few.” 

One of the lights in the bookcases next to her flickers, and Helen sighs in mock annoyance at the ceiling. 

“Yes, you can listen too.” The TARDIS gurgles happily, completely under Helen’s spell since Salzburg. Liv pats the cushions fondly, a tickle of amusement at the back of her head. They’re on the same page, and the TARDIS knows it. 

“One day I’m going to sort out his shelving system, it’s atrocious,” Helen huffs, cosying up to Liv on the ridiculously plush sofa they’ve found among the stacks. It’s a tight squeeze but they manage, Helen tangling their feet together and pulling up a shabby blanket. She’s wearing an oversized jumper Liv’s sure she left in the console room a few weeks back and hasn’t seen since. It looks much better on Helen though. Most things do. 

Helen’s hair is a little damp from her earlier post-adventure shower and it tickles Liv’s nose as she cracks open the book, running a finger down the yellowed index pages. 

“Do you know the story of Snow White?”

Liv’s brain is still processing the feeling of Helen’s toes against her own, and it takes her a second to realise she’s being asked something. “Euh,” she manages. It sounds less grand than she’d hoped.

“I used to be really scared of the wicked stepmother in the film. My aunt took us to see it, and apparently I had nightmares for weeks.” 

“That seems a little counterproductive,” Liv says, passing Helen the cup of herbal tea she’s brought from the kitchen. 

“There was a whole thing in the papers about it,” Helen answers, taking a sip and pulling a face like she’s bitten into a lemon. “Do you have to make it that strong?”

“It’s barely brewed!” Liv takes the mug back and cradles it protectively against her chest. “You can’t even taste the chilli at this point.” 

“Maybe you can’t. I hadn’t even seen a chilli until a few years ago, let alone eat or drink one.” 

Liv looks blankly at her. 

“Remind me to explain rationing to you at some point,” Helen laughs, sipping from her own, much more sensible hot chocolate. With her other hand she turns to the beginning of Snow White, flattens the page, and starts to read out loud. 

Despite her lack of cultural frame of reference, Liv finds herself drawn into the story. Most of Kaldor’s oldest records are ship transcripts and inventories, and offer little in the way of morality tales for children. Liv’s own bedtime stories consisted largely of her dad recounting improbable exploits from his youth, none of which were particularly moral. The memory sends a pang of regret through her, and she forces herself to concentrate on Helen’s voice. As the queen in the story displays some astonishingly bad parenting, the heavy feeling in her stomach subsides, and she allows herself to rest her head against Helen’s shoulder. 

“What do you think?” Helen asks, pausing to drink from her hot chocolate. There’s an expectant twinkle in her eye, the candle-like glow of the library catching in her hair, and Liv can’t help but smile.

“I like it. Although I can’t believe the Grimms actually managed to get anything done. They seemed so-”

“Incompetent?” 

“I wasn’t going to say it.”

Helen laughs. “Absolutely useless, both of them. They do tell you not to meet your heroes.”

“Well, they’re wrong. You’re brilliant.” 

Liv manages to suppress a grin when colour rises in Helen’s cheeks. She doesn't set out to flirt with Helen at every given opportunity, but right now with their feet tangled together, it feels ridiculously easy. Helen touches her shoulder softly, fondly, and Liv feels the unspoken thing between them flicker to life. These days she’s only half-heartedly pretending it doesn’t exist and so allows herself the contact, burrowing into Helen’s side a little further. Helen’s arm snakes round her shoulder, tracing lazy circles on the fabric of Liv’s shirt as she picks up the book again. It’s intimate but not invasive, drowning out all other thought until Liv feels so relaxed she couldn’t move if she wanted to. 

Helen finishes the story a while later, rousing Liv as she moves her arm away to grab the last of her chocolate. Liv makes a low sound in protest, missing the contact. 

“Sorry,” Helen says apologetically, replacing her now empty mug on the table. “It was getting cold. Want another story?”

Liv blinks as her brain comes back online. She sits up slightly, taking the book from Helen and looking at the index page. “I can read you one, if you like?” She’s never thought of herself as a great reader, but the stories are intriguing for reasons she can’t quite describe. Besides, Helen could probably use a break. 

“I was thinking Hansel and Gretel?” Helen says, evidently taking her up on her offer and settling in against her. “The witch gets cooked to death in that one.”

“Sounds great,” Liv deadpans, flicking to the start of the story. She wills her hands to stop jittering as Helen folds the blanket further over them both, and begins to read. 

Halfway through, Helen shifts like she’s settling in for the long haul, curling her head on Liv’s chest and stretching her legs out long. Liv feels a very telling, very dangerous flutter in her stomach and pauses. 

Unable to stop herself, she threads her finger through Helen hair, drawing gentle circles against her scalp. Helen sighs happily, looking up at her with undisguised affection. 

The thing roars. 

It beats between them, and Liv has to tear her eyes away from Helen’s mouth before she does something stupidly reckless. She clears her throat and grabs the book with one hand, forcing her eyes to stay on the page. Helen yawns, smiling contently as Liv continues to play with her hair. She doses off not long after, and Liv is left mesmerised by her, unable to remember the last time she felt this safe with someone. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're looking for chronological progression / character consistency you won't find it here whoops. Wrote this a while before the others so it feels kinda, different? Oh well.

"I'm going to skin him, I really am." 

"Liv-"

"When we get out of here he's dead."

"Liv please, sit down, you're going to hurt yourself." 

Liv punches the wall one final time, just for good measure. It does absolutely nothing except - as per Helen’s prediction - hurt her. The cell they’re in allows only a tiny slither of light in from the walkway, and as much as she loathes to admit it, being in near-darkness is a tad too close to being on a Dalek ship for comfort. She hisses in frustration and hears a rustle as Helen moves closer, tugging Liv down the wall to sit beside her. 

"We'll be out of here soon, you'll see," Helen soothes. "Just got to calm down and think for a moment." 

"Do you think the word 'holiday' means something different where he comes from?" 

Helen chuckles. "You think the Time Lord idea of fun is spending a few nights in a dungeon?" 

"I wouldn't be surprised," Liv mutters, wincing as she tries flexing her fingers. "You've seen their place, it practically is a giant dungeon." 

Helen laughs, leaning lightly into Liv’s shoulder. “Very richly decorated for a dungeon. They’re fond of symbolism, did you notice? That figure-eight from the TARDIS was everywhere. I always thought it was a brand of some sort, but now I think it has a more symbolic use.”

Liv knows perfectly well Helen is trying to distract her from the darkness around them. Still, trust a language scholar to notice a recurring motif while in mortal peril. 

“How’s your hand?” Helen asks. “Sounded like you hit that wall pretty hard.”

“It’s fine.”

“Liar.” 

Liv hears another rustle as Helen moves her shoulder, then feels her friend’s fingers on her wrist, rubbing gentle circles over her knuckles. 

"You're hurt," she states matter-of-factly when Liv freezes. 

Liv considers pulling her hand away. Compartmentalising emotions to the point of nonexistence used to be her survival strategy, she could shrug it off like it’s nothing. 

Like the contact doesn’t burn her; like she hasn’t already admitted to herself she’s fallen in love with Helen. Yeah, sounds like a great idea.

Liv thumps her head against the wall in resignation. One breath in, one breath out, repeat until you feel better or the world ends, whichever comes first. Tried and tested method throughout the galaxy.

“Liv? Liv are you alright? You’ve gone very quiet.”

“I’m fine. Just-” she clears her throat. “ - tired of all this.” 

She means the getting captured, the being shot at, the running for their lives, but then Helen answers quietly with “me too,” and suddenly she’s not so sure at all that’s what they’re talking about. 

Because Helen’s hand has gone still over hers, and she is trying to make eye-contact even in the near-darkness.

End of the world then. 

“Helen -” Liv starts, and stops, because any end to that sentence is dangerous territory and therefore better left unsaid. 

Another rustle, and Liv goes still with shock as Helen presses closer, intertwining their fingers.

“The Nine - he made me think you were dead,” she mumbles, eyes fixed on Liv’s shoulder. 

“I don’t ever want to feel like that again.” 

Alarms are blaring through all levels of Liv’s mind, screaming to pull back and run before it’s too late.

“I know the feeling,” she answers instead, voice barely above a whisper. Helen looks up, and Liv meets her eyes, compartmentalisation be damned. 

An absolutely deafening roar rips through the cell, followed by an explosion that shakes the walls. Through the dust falling from the ceiling Liv can make out the Doctor, sonic in hand, gesturing maniacally. 

She’s going to skin him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WE GOT THERE IN THE END LADS

“Why do we never go anywhere tropical?” Helen mutters, rubbing her hands together over the glowing block in the centre of the tiny space. Liv sits down onto the raised platform next to her, sinking into what Helen supposes is a mattress.

“I’d settle for just moderate at the moment,” Liv grumbles, tugging at the laces of her boots.“A nice, tempered climate where I don’t have to worry about freezing to death.” One of her boots lands with a squelch by the side of the bed and she pulls a face. “If I die of entirely preventable hypothermia, I swear I’ll haunt all his future regenerations.” 

Helen chuckles, glancing around the space for somewhere to put her own sodden boots and clothes. The locals referred to their emergency accommodation as a survival base, but Helen can’t stop thinking of it as a high-tech igloo, complete with translucent, domed roof offering a wide view of the darkening sky. 

She props her shoes up by the glowing block, figuring it hasn’t killed them so far. Her coat and jeans get a hanger each next to the door, and her socks join her shoes next to the heat. 

“Catch,” Liv says, throwing her a long, fluffy robe. “Looks like humans have come through here before, which is good news for us.” She’s standing on the bed, unearthing a heap of blankets from a cubby hole halfway up the curving wall. 

“It’s like survival camp,” Helen says, earning a raised eyebrow from Liv. “Only on an alien planet with really nice beds and a space and time ship in charge of our rescue.” Liv snorts but doesn’t answer, too busy piling up every blanket she can find.

Helen shivers, suddenly aware she’s standing around in just a t-shirt and underwear. The fact that she has stopped being embarrassed by her own skin barely registers anymore. The universe simply has too many mud-soaked planets to cling to modesty in the presence of friends. Nowadays she counts it as a win if she can wear things more than once without having to mend them. She is still cold however, and pulls on the robe Liv handed her. 

A moment later the last of the icy light fades into dusk, casting their hide-out into deep shadows. Stars blink lazily against the coming darkness of the night-sky, their constellations unfamiliar to anyone on Earth. Helen joins Liv by the pile of blankets, casting a side-ways look at her friend. 

“We’ll be warmer if we share,” Liv shrugs, avoiding her eyes. “But we won’t die if we don’t, either.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Helen says, resolutely ignoring the hammering that has started in her chest. “Of course we’re sharing, my toes are cold.”

She sits down on the bed and is amazed by just how far she sinks into it. Liv mirrors her on the other side of the mattress and they meet in the middle, a careful inch of space between them. 

"Hell of a view," Helen mutters.

"Hm," Liv agrees.

Helen looks at Liv, sees she’s curled up on her side studying Helen, and laughs. “Smooth, very smooth.”

“I thought so,” Liv chuckles. “But you’re right, the sky is very beautiful too.”

Helen pokes Liv with freezing toes in retaliation, her brain a broken record of 'beautiful'. Liv tries to scoot away but Helen manages to hook her feet around Liv's ankles, trapping her in place. 

"Unfair," Liv hisses, wriggling her legs in an extremely half-hearted attempt at freedom. The movement sends little zaps of electricity through Helen’s body and she finds herself seeking it out, shifting closer to Liv. 

Liv stills, watching Helen’s face with an obvious softness. "You're very cuddly all of a sudden." 

"I'm cold," Helen mutters, cosying up to Liv with absolutely no intention to disentangle herself. "'n you're warm." 

Liv huffs a laugh, pulling the blanket up to Helen's ears and settling in against her. They lie in silence for a moment, an infinity of stars blinking against the blackness overhead. 

"Warmer?" Liv asks softly, her breath ghosting Helen's face. 

"Positively toasty," Helen whispers, wiggling her toes against Liv's as proof. In fact, she hasn't felt this relaxed in months, cocooned as they are under the night sky. Liv’s looking at her like she’s hung the moon overhead herself, and Helen feels a surge of affection so strong it makes it hard to breathe. Falling in love with Liv has felt nothing like the damnation she was warned about, and everything like an explosion in her chest, over and over again. 

Time slows to a trickle. Helen brushes her fingers against Liv's under the blankets, certain her heart will burst when Liv links their hands. Warm, happy, and utterly in love, Helen presses their foreheads together. Starlight speckles in Liv's bright eyes, and her sharp inhale is all the confirmation Helen needs. 

She kisses Liv. 

It’s gentle, almost reverent, and feels like a puzzle piece finally slotting into place. 

"I should've done that a lot sooner." 

Liv laughs against her mouth, speechless for once.


	7. Bonus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little bonus chapter between Liv and Eight. Follows on from chapter 4 but didn't really fit there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your comments, you're all brilliant.

“Mind if I join you?" the Doctor says softly, peering over the back of the sofa. Liv pulls her hand back from Helen's hair with live-wire speed.

"Go ahead," she manages as the Doctor plops into a chair opposite, either actually oblivious to Liv's death stare or successfully pretending to be. 

"Refill?" He asks, pulling a teapot from seemingly out of nowhere. She shakes her head and he fills a mug for himself, even producing several sugar cubes from his pocket. Whether sleight of hand or TARIS shenanigans, it looks annoyingly impressive. He’s far too smug about it for Liv’s liking. He’s far too smug about everything.

"What were you reading?" 

Liv holds up the book and the Doctor nods appreciatively. "Any favourites so far?"

"I'm only two in. They're quite gruesome."

"You should see the originals." The Doctor gives her the look that means 'ask me, and I will explain in detail why’. It’s different from his ‘I’m about to go off on a random tangent’ look, but Liv’s been around long enough to know stern silence is the best method of dealing with either.

Sure enough, the Doctor refills his tea and sits back in his chair, momentarily occupied by one of the many pillows strewn about the place. He’s got a fascination for textures and colours that the TARDIS replicates in her internal architecture, regularly changing up surfaces and patterns depending on his mood. It’s equal parts endearing and unsettling.

“How is she?" The Doctor asks, indicating Helen. "She underwent quite the transformation back in the forest." 

"She seems fine, if a little tired." It’s more a personal opinion than a medical one, but the Doctor seems relieved. Helen’s abduction by the Eleven rattled him as much as it did Liv, despite his insistence otherwise. They’ve both spent a lot of time worrying over her recently, and whatever happened in the forest can’t have helped.

“I’ve tried talking to her about it, but she’s not-” Liv takes a deep breath, rephrasing to a more acceptable clinical standard. "I get the impression she's trying to avoid the subject, and I'm concerned.”

The Doctor nods. "She's more resilient than you think," he says carefully. "Give her time, she may surprise you."

"She frequently does," Liv answers before she can stop herself. 

The Doctor's look softens and he smiles knowingly at her. 

"Don't," she warns, before he gets it in his head that now is a good time for a hearts-to-heart. He's a lot less oblivious than he pretends to be, and she's been around him long enough to know that. 

"Just talk to her."

Liv gets the distinct impression she’s walked into a trap. It’s infuriating when the Doctor manages to outsmart her. Beside her, Helen shifts in her sleep, pressing her face further into Liv's shirt. The movement is not lost on the Doctor. 

"Please leave it," she practically growls as the Doctor opens his mouth to speak. She’s really not in the mood for a best-friend emotional honesty hour. Not least because neither of them is particularly good at it.

"It's not going to hurt any less if you don't tell her." he says softly. "It never does."

"I know," Liv sighs, angry despite herself. "I know, alright? I just - can't."

She catches her voice rising and stops. The last thing she wants right now is Helen waking up. 

The Doctor looks puzzled, and Liv realises she's confused him with her outburst. She can practically hear the cogs whirring in his head, his full attention on her. It makes her feel oddly like a deer in headlights. He may not be oblivious, but he's still non-human. Human emotions are a minefield to her, and she is human. She can't imagine what it's like for him. 

"Sorry," she sighs, breathing deeply. "That wasn't helpful."

"I don't think I was, either." 

That makes her chuckle. She's treated to one of his grins in response, the intensity of his gaze fading to its normal level. He picks up the pillow in his lap and studies its edges, fingers running repeatedly over the fraying seams. 

"You're allowed to be happy.” 

Liv groans in frustration.

"It's not just that," she snaps, suppressing the urge to get up and punch him. "In my experience, people get… weird about women being with other women. On Earth, I mean. Round Helen's time." 

"Ah," he says, in the tone of voice he reserves for human things he doesn’t understand. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

"Yeah.”

She hadn’t either, until Baker Street and various baffling history books on the subject. Kaldor's hardly the most progressive place in the universe, but it's not so archaic as to stigmatise sexuality, and she doubts Gallifrey is either. Gender's certainly treated trivially, and on Kaldor life's more about prestige than anything else. The universe as a whole tends towards the fluid side of things, but Earth loves a binary. She can't imagine growing up in it and not coming out the other end with scars. 

“I’ve travelled with people like Helen before,” the Doctor says, shifting as if physically trying to find the words. “And in my experience, Time has a way of putting things into perspective. A few of them struggled, but all of them figured it out, in the end.”

“Travel broadens the mind?” Liv asks, unconvinced. 

“Precisely.” 

“Were they happy?” Liv asks after a moment’s silence, her voice rougher than she’d like.

“I think so, yes.” 

She nods, gently winding a lock of Helen’s hair round her finger. 

“Trust your instincts, Liv.” the Doctor says quietly, watching her. “I do.” 

“Right now my instincts are telling me to smother you.”

He blinks. “Maybe ignore that one.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got plenty of practice repressing it.” 

The Doctor isn’t a stranger to the tried and tested method of deflection, but he laughs anyway.

“Just think about it. For your sake, and Helen’s.”

She looks at her friend’s sleeping face and sighs. “I will.”


End file.
